Poem of the week

In the hallway of our 50s semi
my folks stand, radiant,
because, I say, You’re dead now.
You know that, don’t you? Here,
come forward; Dad you too,
just a few steps nearer the mirror
framed above your half-moon
telephone table, and side by side
see how your faces glow
now you’re no longer alive
behind the rattly door
that opens to the path which you,
Mum, lined so artfully
with sea-worn pebbles

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